To Guide My Way
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Post-series. Spoilers for Episode 51 and beginning of CoS. Somewhat AU. "You know, some days I feel like dying." For the last time, this is NOT Elricest.


**Author's Note: This was inspired by 3 Doors Down's song "Landing in London," as well as a conversation I had with a friend. I don't normally write fics about Conqueror of Shamballa, but some things need to be written, I think. One thing that's always struck me in the movie is the way Ed acts. Whenever he talks, he sounds so _weary,_ like he's dying inside from being separated from his brother and his world. I wrote this with that in mind.**

**N.B.: This is a Banks Songfic. Rather than being your normal kind of songfic where the lyrics of the song are interspersed throughout the story, the lyrics are used sort of like an outline for the story. Those who are familiar with the song may be able to tell which parts were inspired by which lines. This is a songfic of "Landing in London" by 3 Doors Down.**

You know, some days I feel like dying. I feel like giving up, or breaking down. And you can hardly blame me, really. Lost my brother, lost every last friend... I literally lost my world, and now I'm thrust into another, an alien world that almost seems familiar – almost, but not quite – like a dream you know you've had before, but you can't remember when. But it's not a dream. No, unfortunately, everything is real. Solid. Tangible. Very much _here._ The only problem is, I don't want to be _here._ I want to be _there._

Amestris, my lost country, my lost world. I miss everything familiar about it, because the world I'm in now is cold and strange. Even the colors seem washed out, or maybe it's just that my eyes are going dim from straining to see my world, my Amestris, hiding around the corner, just out of sight. I miss everything about Amestris, absolutely everything. I miss alchemy, I miss the smell of the air, I miss the absence of all these _airplanes _and _zeppelins_ and _rockets._

Most of all, though, I miss the people. I miss everyone I knew and loved, but I miss one person in particular. I think about him every waking moment, and I dream about him too. I guess I'm obsessed, but can you blame me? He's all that kept me going for the last six years or so. When I felt like ending my life at the age of eleven, I didn't, and it was all because of him. I had a duty to him, a responsibility, and I swore to fulfill it before even contemplating thoughts of suicide.

Usually, once a duty is fulfilled, there is some measure of contentment. At least, that's what I always used to think. I expected to feel relief, a weight lifted off my shoulders, when I gave my little brother his body back. But instead of relief, I could only find an empty desolation in my heart. When I found myself in this world, I didn't breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that I had reached my goal. Because it was wrong, so horribly wrong. I discovered something I'd never realized before: I wanted to be there with him, even if neither of us were whole.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realized how lost I am without my little brother. It's funny, and sad, when I see siblings fighting and arguing. Boys teasing their little brothers, telling them they're nothing but a pest and a nuisance... I find myself wondering how these children can be so utterly _stupid._ Can't they see how precious a little brother is? A little brother is there to temper the metal of your heart, to force you to behave better than you would have on your own. Most of all, a little brother is there simply to _be there,_ to stay by your side no matter what.

But what happens when you abandon that little brother to his fate? No matter how I reason with myself, I can't escape the awful knowledge that Al is alone, completely alone, because I abandoned him. If he feels the half of what I'm feeling... It would be kinder to kill him.

I think my heart is already broken. It costs me everything to smile, more to laugh. I'm dying on the inside; it's like a cancer spreading swiftly through every cell of my body. I just want to be at my brother's side again. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, it is, because here I am. Lost in a world not my own, with no way of knowing how to get back home. I try my theories, I search ever more desperately, for I know that if I was still for one day I would give way to the clawing madness I can barely keep at bay. I force myself to stay awake long into the night, poring over books, maps, and diagrams, keeping myself from sleep until my body can resist no longer. I do this, for when I sleep I am haunted by nightmares. Nightmares of the day I nearly lost my brother, of the day we were separated, of a possible day in the future when I would accept that I was stuck in this world for good. In the dark of the night, everything is possible. I see old enemies laughing at my pain, old friends dying without me, myself standing hopeless, feet rooted to the ground, unable to move, unable to scream.

But sometimes, in the dark of the night, in the dark of my dreams, I see a light. The dark tunnel of my dreams, my fears, stretches out before me, and at the end is a blinding, beautiful light, so bright it hurts my eyes just to look at it. I draw closer to the light, longing to put the shadows behind. And that's when I see it. I see my brother. He's taller than I am, with golden hair like mine, and he's always smiling. He holds out his hand to me, and I reach out to take it, but I always wake up before our fingers touch. It's like a twisted version of the night I watched him eaten up by the Gate, twisted from horror into a beautiful longing. When I wake from those dreams, I throw myself into my research with greater fervor than before, determined to see my brother face-to-face once again.

* * *

You know, some days I feel like dying. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm ungrateful. I'm probably selfish and stupid, but I can't help it. I can't remember the four most important years of my life, but I do remember my brother. I remember when we were kids, playing together from dawn till dusk, helping each other with our homework, practicing our alchemy together. The most frustrating thing is not remembering why this brother of mine, the only big brother I have, isn't here right now. Winry and all of them tell me the stories, but they weren't there all the time, and they certainly weren't there in the crucial moments when my brother brought me back. They can't tell me why he's gone.

I miss my brother so much it hurts, like when a bubble of air is trapped between your ribs and you can't breathe deeply without a stinging pain catching you like a knife. I miss everything about him: his bluster, his laugh, his tears, his eyes, his hair, his pinkies that are half a centimeter shorter than normal. And as the days roll by, as the years slip through my fingers, I realize with increasing clarity that I'm broken without my brother.

Yes, my heart is already broken. It crumbles a little each day I wake up and remember that my brother isn't there to wish me a good morning – or even to snap grumpily at me if he was in a bad mood. There's nothing, nothing, always nothing. The nothingness surrounds and engulfs me, like a suffocating cocoon, like bedsheets that strangle you after a night of tossing and turning. I'm lost and drowning, and when I think of this I want to give up. What strangles me tighter is that I know if I gave up, I would die.

Sometimes, I ask myself what I'll do when my brother and I are reunited. It cheers me up considerably, and I tell myself, "I'll run up to him and give him a big hug, and I'll say, 'I've missed you.' Then he'll say, 'I missed you, too.' Then we'll both laugh, because we'll be so happy." Unfortunately, whenever I get to this part, invariably I start to cry. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself that sixteen is much too old to cry so much; the tears spill out all the same. And it's in those moments, when I lose hope of ever seeing my brother's smiling face again, that I think about dying. Killing myself. Ending it all.

I stay up late at night, poring over books of alchemy, scratching out note after note after note. I drink tea, I splash my face with cold water, I do everything possible to keep myself awake. Because when I do fall asleep, I am haunted by nightmares. Nightmares of things I do not remember, whether before or after the dream. I have a feeling my subconscious dreams of the gap in my memory, of the terrible things the others mention only in passing, as though afraid they might trigger memories better left untouched. I never remember my dreams after I wake up, but I do remember a part where the swirling memory-dreams separate into a tunnel made of shadows and despair.

At the very end of the tunnel, there is a blinding light, so bright it hurts my eyes. I run towards the light, and joy fills my heart when I see a silhouette against the light. It's my big brother, shorter than I am, and always smiling. He reaches his left hand out to me, and I reach for it with all my might. But always, without fail, I wake up before our fingers touch. It's those times, when I wake from one of these dreams, that I hurl myself at my work again. I know that somewhere – _somewhere_ – is my brother, and I am determined to reach him, wherever that might be.

* * *

One morning, Alfons Heiderich came into Edward's room to find the odd boy that had become his best friend slumped over on his desk, his cheek resting on his arm, a pen clutched in his other hand. He was still and silent, as calm as if he had been asleep, and dreaming a wonderful dream. But when Alfons reached out to shake him awake, he felt how cold Edward was and realized that he would not be able to wake him.

One morning, Winry Rockbell entered the living room in the early hours of the morning, her eyes alighting on Alphonse. The boy had fallen asleep in the window seat, cheek pressed against the glass, pen clutched in hand and resting lightly on the notebook balanced on his knee. His face was tranquil, a soft smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming of the most beautiful thing in the world. But when Winry called to him that breakfast would soon be ready, he did not stir, and when she reached out to touch his icy cheek, she realized that he would never stir again.

One morning, two brothers were found in separate worlds, each with a paper on which was written:

_My soul has gone_

_To the light_

_To where my brother is_

_And I realize_

_He was always there_

_To guide my way_

One morning, these brothers left the world of grief. And on that morning, they found each other.


End file.
